#invincible variant

[cringe6fail6star6]

Powerless!Mark variant x childhood friend!hero! Reader? Angst?

Imagine you meet a kid during one of your visits into pentagon medical bay because your dad is injured as per usual. And said kid stares blankly at you before showing you some mobile game on their phone. It stops you from being too worried about your dad and crying and you find out this kid is actually pretty cool in a standoffish way.

Later you meet the same kid but now as your new neigbhor. You two go to the same school and then high school. You find out your friends's powers: prophesicing. Obviously you check before trusting them, but getting lucky at tests and escaping getting caught after stealing from the mall convinces you they arent lying. And had this power since forever. Later on said friend, well, becomes a hero. So now you have to hang out alone. Again. Because theyre too busy for everyday hangouts at your or their house.

They still try to be your bestfriend and go to school with you. But now they get pulled towards crime fighting and training in the city with Teen Team instead of playing video games with you, you feel left out. And most of your hang outs have to be cut short because they get called in on some weird villain-hero fighting. Stopping bank robberies and everything else. Just like your dad.

You, of course, dont give up the friendship.

Because you two are still friends, still hang out a lot AND theyre willing to give up hero duties when its something really important to you. Like new comic issue comes out on a comic con and your hero friend is here -in their half assed version of the suit they wear during duty- matching yours -not half assed one.

It gets ruined by a stray villain trying to blow up the place but its okay, they apologize and get signed copy of the issue afterwards(bc they saved authors life during the whole situation). Just for you. Its cool having hero friend.

But than some hang outs get cancelled all together and when you call, you hear other people talking, like Kate or Rex talking over your friend while celebratong another win of the hero side or something. Or they bring weapons to a normal hang out so now your mom is scolding both of you for endangering yourselves. Or comes really late for a hangout and cant even tell why theyre late.

Your dad is... growing impatient by the day when youe powers dont manifest. He grows distant for a while. Your mom assures you hes just worried for you, so you dont blame yourself too much.(but you do)

Then you see him and your friend saving the city together because Teen Team was near, where your dad calls them "Great Protege". Your dad took them as a student instead of you.

Of course. Of course. You dont have powers but that stings just a little. Just a little too much.

Your friend visits your home more often again, like when you were kids, but not for you. They walk in anf apologize for being late to dinner, you mom doesnt blink an eye when a new plate is set on the table. Or during your rare time together they get pulled aside for training session. Or they cant come because theyre training. Or Cecil got on their case about something. And its excuse after another and now it feels that even when you two see each other and almost live under the same roof - you havent spoken in days.

Some horrible situation starts and you and mom get pulled into Pentagon for safety concerns and you get opportunity to hear the mission intercoms. Your dad talks about you and your best friend dating and they deny that - which also stings because, ouch, you were going to confess soon but if its a no its okay you can take rejection.

Then your friend comes to your room unnanounced, blabbering about your dad hunting them, and about some prophesy about you getting your powers. Your friend is grabbing on your arms and legs, hoping to get some magical powers to sprung up out of nowhere -when they see you dont have them- they look genuinely horrified. Like, duh you dont have powers; thats why dad replaced you with with! But you cant say that as you see your friend panicking even more and talking about end of the world.

Your friend has their moments. Sometimes prophecies arent good, fuck it, most of them are horrendous. But youd expect to be used to it by now, but seems that this one is far worse than usual. Something about white skin-tight uniform and crowns, something about thousand punches and bright blood on the hands of your dad. But it cant be that, viltrumites are peaceful and wont do that!

Then your dad comes back home, your friend covering you behind them. Your dad talks something about you being a dissapointment and how he expected better from this planets people - but seems its only good as slaves for the empire. Which angers your friend who shoves you through a portal into Pentagon.

You watch your friend and your dad fight (more like cecils team teleporting them away from his attacks and sending other heroes to stop him and/or weapons that cost as much as certain countries). Until you cant wait for this anymore and you throw yourself into a teleport. You spawn some distance away from the heat of the fight, luckily on the ground, and sprint that direction.

Its only way you know you can do something heroic and you dont waste a second longer...

You cant let your friend die! You sacrifice yourself, last thing you see is them panicking and your dad shocked expression.

Mark doesnt have to imagine.

[lazy-ahh]

Ello~! I was wondering if I can make a request with Mohawk Mark X Starfire Male Reader! Just thinking about them interacting makes me think it’d be cute and funny, especially if Mohawk Mark’s the first person Reader meets and Reader kisses him to learn his language ^_^

LOST STAR

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x (tamaranean/starfire) male reader

when a tamaranean crash-lands on earth with his powers locked behind strange cuffs, the last person he expects to meet is mark grayson—mohawk, piercings, and all the attitude of a pissed-off superhuman. but after a very unconventional first encounter (involving lips, language barriers, and zero personal space), the two find themselves tangled in something neither expected. now mark’s stuck babysitting an alien who follows him like a lovesick comet, touches him like he’s something sacred, and looks at him like he’s the entire damn universe. worst part? mark’s starting to like it.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

the sky was a lazy blend of orange and pink, the sun sinking low behind the rooftops and stretching the shadows of trees and telephone poles into long, crooked fingers across the quiet suburban streets. mark grayson—invincible, not that the name really mattered—was sprawled on the edge of a rooftop, one leg swinging idly over the drop while he chewed on the inside of his cheek. bored. so stupidly, mind-numbingly bored.

nothing ever happened in this dump at this hour surprisingly. no rampaging villains to put through a wall, no collapsing buildings to prop up last-minute, not even a damn bank robbery to spice things up. just the same old houses, the same old people, the same old nothing. he sighed, tilting his head back. maybe he should just bail—go home, flop onto his bed, and finally read the new issue of seance dog that had been sitting on his desk for two days.

he pushed himself up, rolling his shoulders, ready to take off—

"invincible."

cecil’s voice crackled through the earpiece in his right ear, sharp and no-nonsense. mark groaned, tapping the device. "what."

"we’ve got an unidentified object approaching earth at high speed. trajectory puts it landing in your area. intercept and assess—neutralize if it’s a threat. you know the deal."

mark’s lips curled into a grin. finally.

he barely had time to glance up before something streaked across the sky—a blur of green and purple, moving way too fast to be a meteor, way too alive to be space junk. it slammed into the park across the street with a boom that rattled windows and sent birds scattering in panic.

mark didn’t hesitate. he kicked off the roof, the air whipping past him as he dropped down, landing hard enough to crack the pavement near the smoldering crater you’d left behind. dust swirled in the air, thick and choking, but as it cleared—

there you were.

and oh, this just got interesting.

you were… colorful. like, stupidly colorful. not in some tacky, neon way—more like the kind of vibrant that made mark’s brain stutter for half a second. your skin was a warm, sun-kissed gold, like you’d been dipped in honey and left to glow under some star. your hair—wow, your hair—was a wild mess, strands floating slightly as if gravity had given up trying to tame it. and your eyes. bright, glowing green, like two emerald suns blinking up at him, dazed but sharp.

mark’s gaze dragged lower, slow and deliberate, drinking in the sight of you like he’d just stumbled across something precious. yeah, you were built like him—lean but layered with tight, coiled muscle, the kind of body that spoke of battles fought in zero gravity, of limbs trained to twist mid-air and strike like a comet. but where mark was all rough edges and impatient energy, you were polished. sleek in a way that made his throat feel weirdly dry.

your outfit didn’t help. deep, royal purple—the kind of color that shifted in the dying light, almost metallic, like liquid amethyst poured over your skin. it clung to you perfectly, hugging every dip and curve of your frame, leaving your arms bare and flexing, biceps tensing as you tested the cuffs. the fabric looked smooth but impossibly tough, like it could take a hit from a plasma cannon and barely singe.

then there were the details—the silver metal sleeves encasing your forearms, running from wrist to just beneath the swell of your bicep. sleek violet boots, fitted like they’d been forged onto you. and that collar—high, armored, framing your jawline and flaring over your shoulders like some kind of alien royalty. it gave you this… presence. like you hadn’t just crash-landed in a park. like you’d meant to make an entrance.

mark’s lips quirked. space prince. a really pissed-off one, judging by the way you were glaring at your restraints.

interesting.

mark's eyes dropped to your wrists, where thick, pulsating cuffs glowed with an eerie violet light. they weren't just restraints—they were alive with foreign tech, humming like a trapped wasp nest, their surfaces crawling with strange, liquid-metal runes that shifted under his gaze. you groaned through clenched teeth, the veins in your biceps standing out as you wrenched against the cuffs which were flashing brighter in response as if mocking your efforts. a frustrated snarl ripped from your throat, one that made the hair on mark's arms stand up—there was something distinctly predator about it.

"well, well," mark drawled, his arms crossing over his chest, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against his bicep. "looks like earth's got itself a new intergalactic tourist." his lips curled into that trademark smirk, the one that usually made people nervous. "let me guess—not the welcome party you were expecting, right?"

your head snapped up at that, those glowing green eyes narrowing. for a second, you just stared at him like he'd grown a second head, your nose wrinkling in a way that might've been cute if not for the dangerous glint in your eyes. when you spoke, it was like listening to a storm given voice—words that rolled and crashed in impossible rhythms, some syllables sharp as broken glass, others smooth as molten gold. the sounds curled through the air between you, carrying the scent of ozone and something distinctly not-of-this-world.

mark blinked, his smirk faltering for half a heartbeat. "uh. yeah," he said, shaking his head as if that might dislodge the foreign sounds from his ears. "no idea what the hell you just said."

your expression darkened, those glowing eyes flickering like a dying neon sign. he saw the exact moment you gave up on communication—your jaw tightening, the muscles in your shoulders coiling like springs. then, in a burst of motion so fast it left afterimages, you were gone. one second you were there, kneeling in the smoldering crater, the next you were nothing but a comet's tail of emerald and amethyst streaking upward, the shockwave of your takeoff sending dirt and debris spraying in all directions. the air where you'd been shimmered with displaced energy, the scent of burnt ozone hanging heavy in your wake.

"oh, hell no," mark growled, the words tearing from his throat as he kicked off the ground hard enough to crater the pavement beneath him. the air screamed past his ears as he shot after you, his mohawk flattening against his skull from the sheer velocity.

the chase was a goddamn lightning strike—you moved like starlight given form, all emerald and violet streaks against the twilight sky. you banked hard around a skyscraper, your restrained hands somehow not slowing the fluid way you carved through the air, dipping between buildings with impossible grace before rocketing toward the distant tree line. mark gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, pushing his limits to match your speed. you were quicker, yeah, but he was all stubborn rage and earth-born grit, refusing to let some cuffed-up alien outfly him in his own damn city.

the forest came up fast—too fast. the two of you crashed through the canopy in an explosion of splintered branches and shredded leaves, the scent of pine resin thick in the air as you skidded to a stop in a small clearing. dirt and debris sprayed outward from your landing, the impact sending small creatures scattering into the underbrush. you spun to face him, your cuffed hands held in a defensive position despite the restraints, those glowing green eyes burning like solar flares in the dim light. your chest heaved with each breath, but your stance never wavered—balanced, dangerous, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

mark barely had time to flash that infuriating smirk before you lunged.

your first strike shouldn't have been possible with bound hands—a vicious, glowing green haymaker that left afterimages in its wake as it rocketed toward his jaw. mark barely ducked in time, feeling the superheated energy of your fist singe the tips of his hair as it passed. he countered with a sharp jab to your ribs, but you twisted mid-air with impossible flexibility, your knee coming up in a brutal arc that connected with his diaphragm. the impact lifted him clean off his feet, all the air rushing from his lungs in a pained "oof" as he skidded backward through the dirt, his back slamming against an unfortunate sapling that snapped in half from the force.

"the hell—?!" he wheezed, his vision swimming as he struggled to draw breath. his ribs throbbed where you'd hit him—that shouldn't have hurt so damn much. why the hell do your hits feel like freight trains?

you didn’t let up. another punch—sharp, precise—aimed for his ribs. a spinning kick that nearly took his head off if he hadn’t ducked in time. every movement was fluid, calculated, like you’d spent years mastering how to fight even with your hands bound. mark blocked what he could, arms stinging from the impact, but damn, you were good. not just strong—trained. like someone had carved you into a weapon and set you loose.

"alright, enough," he growled, finally snatching your wrist mid-swing, his fingers locking around the smooth metal cuff. you snarled, muscles straining as you tried to yank free, but he held firm, his grip unrelenting. "i’m not trying to fight you, dumbass!"

you froze. your chest heaved, sweat glistening along your temple, those glowing green eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his pulse stutter. for a heartbeat, neither of you moved—just the sound of ragged breathing between you. then, slowly, your glare softened into something uncertain, almost curious. you huffed, nostrils flaring, before your gaze flicked down—to his lips.

then—

you lunged.

mark’s brain short-circuited. one second, he was glaring at you, ready to snap another insult—the next, your mouth was on his, warm and burning, like kissing sunlight given form. your lips were softer than he expected, but there was a roughness to it, a desperation that left him dizzy. your scent flooded his senses—something wild and electric, like ozone and crushed juniper berries.

he didn’t even realize he’d started kissing you back until you pulled away, and god, his body moved before his brain could catch up—chasing your lips in a hazy, instinctive daze, as if you’d stolen the air from his lungs and he needed it back.

you broke the contact with a quiet smack, licking your lips like you’d just tasted something fascinating. your tongue darted out, slow, deliberate, as if savoring the flavor of him.

"there," you murmured, your voice smooth now, laced with an accent that curled around the words like smoke. the glow in your eyes flickered, satisfied. "now i can understand you."

mark just stared, his lips still buzzing with the phantom warmth of yours, his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. he could still taste you—something sweet and foreign, like starlight given flavor. "...what the fuck."

his hand rose slowly, the back of it dragging across his mouth in a rough gesture, like he could wipe away the lingering sensation. it didn't work. "what the hell was that?" his voice came out strangled, higher than usual.

you blinked, your glowing green eyes wide with sudden concern. the way your brows knitted together was almost... cute. damn it. "i am sorry," you said carefully, each word deliberate like you were testing how they felt in your new tongue. your head tilted slightly as you spoke. "my people... we learn speech like this." you raised your cuffed hands slightly, fingers brushing your own lips in demonstration. "lips must touch. to know words."

mark's face burned hotter. "so you just- what, kiss people to talk to them?"

"yes." you nodded earnestly, then hesitated. your nose scrunched as you searched for the right words. "but... not for... pleasure? only learning." you gestured between the two of you. "now i understand you. but your face..." your hand hovered near his cheek, not quite touching. "you look... burned? did i hurt you?"

"no, i'm not- that's not-" mark sputtered, running a hand through his mohawk in frustration. he could still feel the shape of your mouth against his. "it's just... humans don't usually do that, okay? we learn languages the boring way. with books and shit."

your glowing green eyes widened, the light in them pulsing faintly with genuine surprise. "that sounds... very slow." you said it with such sincere, heartbreaking pity—like mark had just confessed he still walked everywhere instead of flying—that his lips twitched despite himself, a choked laugh threatening to escape.

mark groaned, his calloused palm dragging down his face hard enough to briefly distort his features. "unbelievable," he muttered through his fingers. "welp, there goes my first kiss. first alien i meet, and they're a total weirdo."

your head tilted slightly to the side, those luminous eyes blinking once, twice. the movement was so distinctly not human—too smooth, too precise—that it sent an odd shiver down mark's spine. "weer-dee-oh?" you repeated carefully, the unfamiliar word rolling awkwardly off your tongue. your nose scrunched adorably as you tested the syllables. "this is... a bad thing?"

the innocent question, paired with your utterly serious expression, finally broke mark. a sharp bark of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. "oh my god," he wheezed, shoulders shaking. "you're killing me here." he waved a hand vaguely in your direction, struggling to compose himself. "no, it's just- yeah, okay, maybe a little bad. but mostly... you're just different. in a... in a way that makes my brain hurt."

you considered this for a moment, then nodded solemnly. "then i will be... careful with your brain." you said it with such grave sincerity that mark had to bite his lip to keep from laughing again.

the sudden crackle of cecil's voice in his earpiece nearly made mark jump. "invincible. report. was that explosion our new visitor?"

mark sighed, pressing a finger to his ear. "yeah, yeah. we're all good. turns out tall, glowing, and stab-happy here isn't actually—hey!" he interrupted himself as he caught you twisting your wrists violently against the cuffs, your teeth gritted in frustration. without breaking his conversation, he reached over and snapped the remaining restraint like it was a stale breadstick. "—isn't actually a threat. just... real enthusiastic about first impressions."

"you're telling me you've made peaceful contact with an unknown extraterrestrial in under five minutes?" cecil's dry tone could've withered flowers. "should i alert the press about your stunning diplomatic skills?"

"shut up," mark muttered, pointedly ignoring the way you were now staring at him with those big, glowing eyes—like he'd just saved your family and your cat instead of breaking some stupid cuffs. your fingers flexed experimentally, green energy already crackling around your freed hands. it was... distracting. "look, they're harmless. mostly. just... really into the whole kissing thing."

a beat of silence. "...i'm going to pretend i didn't hear that."

"good call," mark said, watching as you shook out your wrists, that ridiculously grateful expression still plastered on your face. he pointedly turned his back, feeling his ears heat up. "anyway, we're cool here. no invasion today. probably."

"your confidence is overwhelming," cecil deadpanned. "anyway, bring them to headquarters immediately—the guardians and i will want to assess this situation properly."

"what? no, he's fine—" mark started, but cecil cut him off.

"that wasn't a request, grayson. headquarters. now." the line went dead with finality.

mark groaned, turning back to see your stupidly earnest face. "stop looking at me like that," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "it was just some cuffs."

you blinked, then smiled—slow and bright like a sunrise. "to you, maybe." your newly freed hand reached up, almost hesitantly, to brush against his arm. "to me... it was everything."

mark's stomach lurched violently, like he'd just missed a step going downstairs. that uncomfortable warmth spread from his chest up to his ears, burning under his skin. oh, this was so not good. with a sharp turn, he pivoted on his heel, deliberately facing away from you so you wouldn't see how flushed he'd become. "anyway, we gotta move. looks like we're taking a field trip," he muttered, voice rough around the edges as he started walking a little too fast.

you blinked, your glowing eyes widening slightly as your head tilted at that perfect, infuriating angle that made your hair sway. without hesitation, you floated after him, keeping pace effortlessly. "field... trip?" the words sounded foreign in your mouth, your accent wrapping around them curiously.

"yeah," mark grumbled, dragging a hand through his mohawk. he could already imagine the interrogation—cecil's piercing stare, the guardians' skeptical looks, and god, if his dad got involved... his shoulders tensed at the thought. "to meet my coworkers. and my boss." he shot you a sideways glance, trying to sound casual as he added, "try not to kiss anyone this time, okay?"

you gently shook your head, the motion sending little emerald sparks dancing through your hair. "there is no need to worry." your voice was soft but certain, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. "i won't kiss anyone else other than you."

mark's steps faltered. he whirled around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. "what do you mean by that?" his voice came out embarrassingly high-pitched.

you looked at him with mild surprise, those luminous eyes studying his flustered expression with open curiosity. "i meant that i'll only ever kiss you if i needed to learn more of the language." a small, knowing smile played at your lips as you added, "though, i doubt i'd need to."

mark's brain short-circuited. the way you said it—so simple, so matter-of-fact—left no room for argument. that uncomfortable warmth in his chest bloomed hotter, spreading down to his fingertips. he swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing.

oh. he was so completely fucked.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

mark absolutely hated this. hated how you floated after him everywhere like some glowing green shadow. hated how you’d tilt your head at every little thing—vending machines, pigeons, traffic lights—like they held the secrets of the universe. hated most of all how cecil had dumped babysitting duty on him with that infuriating smirk. "just keep him out of trouble, grayson. how hard can it be?"

it was impossible. you were a walking disaster wrapped in purple uniform. yesterday you’d tried to "help" him stop a bank robbery by smiling brightly at the thieves and asking why they needed the money, as if you were going to try out to talk-no-jutsu them into not doing the crime anymore. the day before, you’d somehow set a hot dog stand on fire because "the meat tubes smelled sad and wished to be free." and now? now you were hovering two inches behind him as he tried to buy coffee, your chin practically resting on his shoulder as you stared at the cashier with terrifying intensity.

"dude. personal space," mark grumbled, elbowing you back gently. you didn’t move—just blinked those stupidly big eyes at him and whispered "the small human is giving you paper with numbers. is this a threat?"

mark’s eye twitched. "it’s called money, space case." he shoved a twenty at the cashier before dragging you away by your wrist, ignoring how your fingers immediately curled around his like some overgrown, alien puppy. "we’ve been over this. no interrogating minimum wage workers. no ‘investigating’ trash cans. and for the love of god—" he yanked you back as you started drifting toward a police horse, "—no trying to communicate with earth animals!"

you pouted, all soft lips and wounded dignity, your glowing eyes shimmering with genuine concern. "but the furry one looked lonely."

mark's stomach did that stupid, traitorous flip again—the one that made his ribs feel too tight. he hated that most of all. hated how you'd somehow woven yourself into every fucking corner of his life these past four weeks. you were practically living at his house now, curled up on his couch like some exotic housecat whenever his mom made tamaranean-friendly snacks (which she learned for hours from your instructions). debbie adored you, always saving the snacks just for you, laughing at your terrible attempts at earth jokes. even his father—stone-cold nolan grayson—had started giving you those barely-there smiles when you correctly answered his space trivia questions.

the guardians treated you like some precious child they had adopted. darkwing let you fiddle with his tech. war woman sneaked you candy. even cecil, the human embodiment of a migraine, had gruffly admitted you were "tolerable and nice for your own good." everyone loved you. and mark? mark was so, so fucked.

what he hated most were the nights. those quiet, vulnerable nights when you'd slip into his bed after nightmares about your crashed ship, wearing nothing but his stolen seance dog hoodie (now permanently smelling like starlight and something sweet) and those stupid black boxers that rode too low on your hips. you'd curl against him like a contented star, your warm fingers tracing constellations across his cheekbones, his collarbones, the hard planes of his chest—always to the rhythm of that damn song he'd first introduced to you. he never told you to shut up whenever you would hum or even sing the tune, not because your voice sounded nice or anything, but because it just so happened to be his favourite song. your humming vibrated through his skin, your breath warm against his neck as you studied him with that reverent gaze, like he'd hung every fucking star in your sky.

mark would lie there, barely breathing, his heart pounding so loud he was sure you could hear it. he'd focus on keeping his muscles relaxed, on not shivering when your fingertips brushed his nipple accidentally, on pretending he didn't notice how your thigh kept sliding between his in order to tangle your limbs with his. and if his cock stirred in his sweats, thick and heavy with want? well. that was just biology. didn't mean anything. couldn't mean anything. because if you realized he was awake, if you saw the desperate hunger in his eyes, if you felt the way his hips twitched toward your touch—

it would ruin everything. and mark couldn't lose this. couldn't lose you. so he stayed still, stayed quiet, and let you have these stolen moments—even as they slowly drove him insane.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"i've always been curious about these tiny little metal things on your face." your voice was soft with wonder, fingertips hovering just above his skin like you were afraid he might vanish. slowly, so slowly, you traced the silver buds by his eyebrow, following the curve like it held some cosmic secret. your touch drifted down, feather-light, to brush the labret piercing at the bottom of the corner of his lip. when your thumb accidentally grazed the fullness of his bottom lip, mark's breath hitched—just for a second. "why did you get them?" you whispered, glowing eyes searching his.

mark had learned many things about you these past weeks. like how you were practically made of starlight and touch, always finding ways to connect—a hand on his arm when laughing, fingers threading through his when nervous, your entire body pressed along his back when curious about what he was doing. at first, it had been shy little brushes, like you weren't sure you were allowed. now? now you draped yourself over him without hesitation, leaning in close to whisper terrible jokes in his ear just to feel him shake with laughter.

("you know," red rush had said once, smirking as you clung to mark's arm like a vine, "most humans don't just... climb their friends like jungle gyms."

you'd just nuzzled into mark's shoulder, completely unbothered. "but mark isn't most humans." and damn if that hadn't made his chest feel too tight.)

mark had thought about setting boundaries. once. for about five seconds. then you fell asleep on his chest during movie night, and the idea evaporated like morning dew.

now, with your fingers still tracing his piercings, mark swallowed hard. "dunno," he muttered, trying (and failing) to sound casual. "thought they looked cool, i guess." a beat. then, softer: "my mom cried when i came home with the first one."

your glowing eyes crinkled at the corners. "i think they're beautiful," you murmured, thumb brushing his lip again—and okay, that was definitely on purpose this time. "like... constellations. but on your skin instead of the sky." your other hand came up to cradle his jaw, your touch warmer than any sun. "may i...?"

mark's heart was doing that stupid pounding thing again. "may you what?" he breathed, already leaning into your palm.

instead of answering, you closed the distance between you, pressing the softest kiss to each piercing—first his eyebrows, then the corners of his mouth. when you pulled back, your smile was brighter than any supernova. "now i'll always remember how they feel," you whispered, like it was some precious secret.

mark was pretty sure his lungs had forgotten how to work. "you," he croaked out, voice rough like gravel, "are such a weirdo." but his traitorous hands were already dragging you closer, fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips as his forehead fell against yours. the words came out thick with something he wasn't ready to name—something that burned in his chest whenever you looked at him like that. and god, that smile—the one that lit up your whole face, the one that was only ever for him—it sent a wave of heat crashing through him, turning his cheeks and neck an embarrassing shade of pink that matched the sunset bleeding through his bedroom window.

"is that still a bad thing?" you asked, already shifting like this was your rightful place. in one smooth motion, you straddled his thigh, your legs bracketing his like they were made to fit there. your arms looped around his neck with practiced ease, fingers playing with the hairs at his nape like you'd done this a thousand times before. mark's breath hitched as your weight settled fully against him—the firm press of your ass against his thigh, the way your biceps flexed under his fingertips, the heat of your bare skin where his shirt had ridden up. and fuck, if he didn't focus real hard on the ceiling, he was going to lose his mind over the unmistakable press of your cock against his stomach, barely concealed by those stupid thin boxers you always stole from him. he was just wishing you didn't notice the raging boner in his.

mark swallowed hard, his own traitorous body responding in kind. "no..." he managed, voice muffled as he buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling the scent of starlight and his own shampoo on your skin. one hand came up to cradle the back of your head, holding you close like you might disappear. "not with you." his lips brushed against your pulse point, the words spilling out in a whisper he couldn't take back. "never with you."

exactly 4.6k words, i'm honestly a tiny bit impressed lolol. anyway, hope y'all enjoyed this one-shot! i'm not gonna lie, i didn't know where i was going with this but yeah :]

[bananasplit133]

I LOVE YOUR WORKS OMG

Can I ask if you can write some random headcanons for some of his variants??(like viltrumite mark, shiesty/cowboy mark, sinister mark, lensless mark, Omni mark, mohawk and full masked mark) 😔

THANK YOU, ANON.

Here's (Nicknames they'd call you + Random headcanons at the end) :D

Nicknames They’d Call You

Because each Mark has his own way of expressing (or suppressing) his feelings for you.

Alternate Invincible/Reader

ft: Viltrumite Mark, Sinister Mark, No Goggles Mark , Omnivincible, Mohawk Mark, Fully Masked Mark , Striped Mark, UNmasked Mark

----

Omnivincible - Pet, my mate, my little human

Omnivincible doesn’t see you as his equal, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t cherish you. He calls you pet with a sickening amount of affection, stroking your cheek like he’s admiring his favorite possession. When he calls you my mate, it’s always with this deep, territorial rumble, like he’s reminding himself that you belong to him. And little human? That one slips out when he’s being soft—when he’s tucking you into his side after a battle, or when he lets you trace the scars on his arms.

----

Mohawk Mark - Babe, punk, little menace

Mohawk Mark has a carefree and rebellious spirit that shines through in everything he does. He calls you babe casually, showing his affection without overthinking it. When he calls you punk, it’s a playful nickname that reflects his appreciation for your boldness and attitude. And little menace is a cheeky way of acknowledging the trouble you get into together, with a hint of admiration for your adventurous nature. He loves the energy you bring into his life, making every moment feel electrifying and full of excitement.

----

Sinister Mark - Annoyance, pest, my toy

He swears he doesn’t care about you. You’re just an annoyance, always poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. A pest who lingers in the back of his mind when he should be focusing on more important things. But when he lets his guard down? When it’s just the two of you in the dead of night, and he’s watching you with something unreadable in his eyes? That’s when he calls you my toy. His voice is low, almost dangerous, and he’s daring you to prove him wrong—to show him you mean more to him than that.

----

Target/Striped Mark - Lowlife, my dear, little thing

To Target Mark, you’re a weak little human, and he reminds you of that constantly. “Stay out of my way, lowlife,” he sneers, but there’s something almost possessive in the way he says it. When he’s in a rare good mood, he might call you my dear, drawing it out with that infuriating smirk. And when you surprise him—when you fight back, when you show him you’re not as breakable as he thought—that’s when he calls you little thing. His voice goes soft, almost fond. You’re not his equal, but you intrigue him.

----

No Goggles Mark - You, idiot, my weakness

He’s so angry at himself for caring about you. You’re an idiot for staying by his side, and he’s an idiot for letting you. When he calls you you, it’s always laced with frustration—“You. Get out of here.” But you never do. And that makes you his weakness. He won’t admit it, but the way his hands linger on you, the way his voice breaks when he thinks you’re hurt—it’s undeniable.

----

Viltrumite Mark - Beloved, my reason, treasure

Viltrumite Mark has no need for petty human emotions, or so he tells himself. But when he holds you, when he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, he calls you beloved. His reason. His treasure. He says them with quiet reverence, his forehead pressed to yours, like he’s trying to commit you to memory in case he loses you.

----

Unmasked Mark - Hope, light, angel

You’re the only thing good left in his world. Hope is what he calls you when he looks at you like he wants to believe in something again. Light is whispered under his breath when you smile at him, when you pull him back from the edge. And angel? That one’s different. That one’s said in a cracked voice, in a moment of pure vulnerability, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he says it out loud.

----

Fully Masked Mark - My love, precious, mine

He’s obsessed with you. He doesn’t just love you—he needs you. My love is murmured like a prayer, over and over again, as he pulls you closer. Precious is spoken with an almost painful tenderness, as if he’s terrified of breaking you. But mine? Mine is the one he says with raw desperation, with a steel grip around your wrist, with a look in his eyes that says he’ll never let you go.

----

RANDOM HEADCANONS

Omnivincible-

- He views you as a treasured possession, and any threat to your safety sparks his ruthless side. He'll eliminate anyone he perceives as a danger to you without hesitation.

-His affection often comes with an unsettling undertone, as he sees you as a part of his empire. He may stroke your cheek affectionately, but it’s always with an intensity that says you’re his and his alone.

- He struggles with guilt over his conquests and often tries to ease that burden by keeping you close. He wants to ensure you never feel the weight of his actions, even if it means manipulating your perceptions of the world around you

----

Mohawk Mark

-He drags you into chaotic escapades, often without a second thought. The thrill of danger exhilarates him, and he finds joy in testing boundaries—even if it leads to reckless decisions.

-He loves to tease you, calling you babe and punk with a playful smirk, but there’s an edge to his playfulness. He enjoys watching you squirm and will push your buttons just to see how far he can go.

-Beneath his carefree facade lies a cunning strategist. He revels in the chaos he creates, and while he enjoys your company, he’ll never hesitate to put his own desires first, even if it puts you at risk.

----

Sinister Mark

-He views you as a possession, often declaring you my toy in a way that sends chills down your spine. His fixation grows darker, making you both intrigued and terrified by his affection.

-He often displays affection in morbid ways, like collecting small tokens of your presence—things you’ve touched or worn. He might kiss your lips a little too hard, deliberately biting them to draw a bit of blood, relishing the taste as a reminder of his connection to you.

-He revels in the fear he instills, often letting you see the darker sides of his nature. When he whispers twisted fantasies to you, he may lean in close and trace the cut on your lip with his tongue, ensuring you know that your pain and pleasure are intricately linked in his mind.

----

Target/Striped Mark

-He revels in his superiority and constantly reminds you of your place beneath him. Calling you lowlife is a power play, a way to assert his dominance while simultaneously being drawn to you.

- In rare moments of vulnerability, he might let his guard down, but it’s often laced with condescension. When he calls you my dear, there’s a mix of arrogance and genuine fondness, a battle within himself.

- He enjoys keeping you close, but it’s always with an agenda. He’ll use you as a pawn in his plans, making it clear that your existence serves his interests above all else.

----

No Goggles Mark 

- Mark thrives on chaos and enjoys provoking reactions from you. His wild grin and giddy laughter reveal how much he relishes the destruction around him, and he finds joy in scaring you just as much as he enjoys the thrill of battle. He might playfully challenge you to hit him, genuinely excited about the pain, seeing it as a game to push your limits.

-He has a twisted sense of affection, mixing playful teasing with darker impulses. When he holds you close, it’s with an intensity that’s both possessive and thrilling. He’ll laugh off injuries, encouraging you to hit him or even react violently, finding a strange delight in the way you both navigate fear and excitement together.

-Despite his unpredictable and dangerous nature, Mark possesses an unsettling charm. He can switch from terrifying to oddly sweet in an instant, making it hard to decipher his true intentions. He might grip your shoulders tightly, leaning in close with a mischievous glint in his eye, leaving you both intrigued and unsettled by his unpredictable behavior.

---

Viltrumite Mark

- He tries to suppress his feelings for you, believing that emotions are a weakness. But beneath that facade lies a man who’s torn between duty to the empire and his desire for you.

-He views his love as a weakness, and though he tries to push you away, he often pulls you closer when it suits him. Your presence is comforting, but he sees it as a distraction from his greater goals.

- When he admits feelings for you, it’s in a way that reflects his indoctrination. He may see you as a potential ally in his conquest, complicating your relationship with his ulterior motives.

----

Unmasked Mark

- Your presence serves as a reminder of what he’s lost, and he often feels unworthy of your affection. He fights against his darker instincts, wanting to protect you but fearing he might hurt you instead.

- He admires you deeply, but his self-loathing often leads him to push you away. He’ll call you hope in moments of desperation, longing for the innocence you represent.

-While he cherishes you, he sees you as a light in his darkness—a burden he feels guilty about. He fears what he might become, yet he clings to you in hopes of redemption.

----

Fully Masked Mark

- He’s utterly obsessed with you and will go to extreme lengths to keep you by his side. His possessiveness often leads him to isolate you from others, believing he’s protecting you.

- He sees you as his salvation from the horrors of his world, and while he loves you fiercely, he often intertwines that love with his darker impulses.

-When he wraps his arms and legs around you, it’s a desperate attempt to feel whole. He often whispers sweet affirmations, but there’s a darkness lurking beneath his devotion—an ever-present fear of losing you to the world he’s created.

(this took me so long to write; im gonna explode)

[idyllwave]

it's still you ch 1

mark grayson x reader , invincible variant x reader

cw : blood , gore , death , strong language , grammatical errors , etc. warnings will be placed at the beginning of each chapter as needed.

note : this mark & y/n are variants , in other words , this is ( obviously ) not set in the main universe . (yet)

Mark looked at his bloody glove. His eyes unreadable behind the goggles stitched into his mask. He should have handled those protestors differently because now it would be a chore to get the blood out. Unless… his head tilted back as he stared up at the night sky. That was one way to do it.

Deciding to take the easy way out, he lifted off the ground with relative ease before shooting up into the sky. His focus on breaking through the atmosphere, and just as he did so the blood burned right off at the speed he was going.

That should do it, he thought to himself as he came to a stop, his eyes scanning his now bloodless gloves. Though, a part of him wondered how effective this tactic was with other things. He noticed something out of his peripheral vision and turned, but only to see a few so called “rebels” floating aimlessly – their corpses cold, dead, and turning slightly blue from the ice that built on them.

He was impressed that they were still floating around considering he tossed them up into space a couple of weeks ago.

He turned his gaze away as he reentered the atmosphere, and instead of of doing his usual rounds from one major city to the next, he decided to race to a faraway house located in the countryside where no other humans were around, well, except for one.

He spotted you before you did to him.

“Mark!”

You were on a makeshift swing he built, eyes filled with joy as you swung your legs back and forth as you waved him down to you. He smiled a little, the expression almost small as he maneuvered himself so that he landed behind you, and just as the swing swung back towards him, he placed his hands on your waist and gently pushed.

You laughed as he did this, your smile big and bright – almost too bright, blinding even.

Looking at how he was acting right now, it would be hard to believe that Mark crushed a man’s neck with his fist today, or, well, crushed multiple necks today for that matter…

“What all did you do today?”

Your voice rung out, still filled with jovial laughter. A part of him wanted to answer truthfully, however, that would ruin your image of him. He wouldn’t be Mark anymore.

“There were some … bad guys I had to handle in front of the white house today. They yelled so loud, I thought my ears would bleed.”

“They didn’t hurt you, right?”

Deep in your mind, he was still your Mark who held back.

He shook his head, “they may have been bad guys, but they were just normal dudes. One of them threw a brick at my head, but I didn’t feel a thing.”

You turned in the swing a little in order to face him, the motion causing the rhythm of the swing to mess up as he grabbed a hold of your waist to steady you so the swing wouldn’t accidentally knock you off. His hold on you steadied the swing instantly.

“I still don’t like it when people try to hurt you…,” you said and he could practically hear the pout in your voice before he looked at your face to see it forming against your lips.

“I can’t exactly stop them from wanting to hurt me,” he said simply causing you to huff and turn back around, your legs kicking to signal him to push you again.

“Then you can lay your head in my lap later so I can run my fingers through your hair and give you a massage! It’s the only way to make me feel better!”

He chuckled softly, “right, whatever you say.”

“I’m being serious, Mark!”

He hummed lightly, and despite his light teasing he already knew that he would be obediently laying across the couch later with his head in your lap, but it was always fun to joke with you – to make you feel that he is still Mark despite the fact that he made the world burn all around the two of you.

Keeping it a secret from you, from what he was turning into, was hard. From the moment he started attacking everyone he had taken you to this house that he had built and told you that you would be safe here because of a dangerous viltrumite threat that recently came to earth fully hiding the fact that he was viltrumite threat all along.

Keeping you here was also another challenge, but he managed to entertain you and keep you here. Being childhood friends who were always inseparable came in handy because of that.

“Come on, Mark, I want to go higher!”

He rolled his eyes as he continued to push you on the swing.

He hoped you never changed.

[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 3

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

CHAPTER 2: Tutorial Mission START Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

For a fake world, the chemistry lecture here was as dull as the real one’s. 

After Mark disappeared to who knows where, you resumed life as a college student and went to class. Biochemistry, a fascinating subject, but the teacher had a voice that could put dragons to sleep. Compared to your philosophy professor, the man detailing the steps to the citric acid cycle spoke without a change in his inflection and was less “discussing” and “more reading from his powerpoint.” 

It was a good thing you–this version of you–took up philosophy. The so-called “hard sciences” are fun, but being human means having limited time, and when buttloads of information is crammed into you without time for processing and then quizzed, the fun tends to diminish. 

The bell rang.

“I will upload the modules for the next session by tonight, and don’t forget to answer the formative quiz for today’s lecture. Have a good day, everyone.” 

You opened your planner. This was the last class for today, and there didn’t seem to be anything else written here, only this semester’s schedule. 

Huh.

[Accurate to the real thing, I’d say.]

“If that is a jab at me then you’re wasting your breath, or whatever energy you use to talk.” You didn’t like social engagements. It would seem this version of you was the same. Good. At least you didn’t have to worry about making small talk with strangers. You had this body’s memories, but they were limited, imperfect. 

“What should we do now?” You asked, walking out of the auditorium. 

[That is up to the Host. ]

[Your will is my will.]

“Is that your way of telling me you’re not gonna help me?”

[ ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ]

You rolled your eyes and opened your phone. The list of contacts you had were straightforward; parents, several family members, some old classmates and friends. Vague figures in the back of this brain’s memory. The system told you not to bother contacting any of them. [It would be pointless] was its reply when you inquired why. 

You checked the apps. Facebook was a thing here but Twitter was replaced by “Z” and Youtube was “WeTV.” A lot of the creators “you” followed were news outlets.

You clicked a WeTV link to a livestream report of a monster attack in Australia, then another in Brazil, and one in the Philippines.

“Geez.” You were never going to complain about being bored again. “Those poor people.”

[Look on the bright side, Host, here the destruction of nations can be blamed on an external threat rather than the political leaders. In your reality, you humans have no one else to blame but yourselves.]

Spoken in a robotic voice with a cheery lilt. It seemed genuine in its attempt to comfort you, so you bit your tongue and continued scrolling.

Monsters, villains, more monsters, more villains. Hundreds of people injured, dozens dead.

Just then, a light bulb went off in your head. “I think I know what I’m supposed to do now.”

The dorm was too far so you went to the campus library. You found a vacant computer near the wall, far from prying eyes. 

[Resorting to cyberstalking, I see.]

“Before I can make him snap, I need to figure out what makes him tick.” 

Judging from his socials, Mark’s popular, not just as Invincible, but as Mark Grayson. He was on the debate team back in high school, played bass at a band called Indigo Muse, and, if the many, many, many posts about him were anything to go by, he was well-loved by the ladies.

When you couldn’t find any family pictures, you decided to study his superhero identity. 

This world’s Invincible wore a black suit with blue accents. Most pictures of him were blurred, which was either on purpose or incredibly fortunate, because he didn’t wear a mask or cowl. 

UNKNOWN SUPER SAVES BUS OF TEENS

NEW SUPERHERO RISES THE RANKS

INVINCIBLE HELPS OLD LADY DOWN THE STREET

Going by the news articles, he’s been a hero for a mere four months. “No wonder the corruption meter is mostly empty.” You’ve seen this play out before, not in Invincible , but in various coming of age stories. This Mark was a fledgling. His morals were still intact, but judging from that 3%, he’s starting to see that the world of superheroes isn’t squeaky clean.

You pushed down the pity in your chest and continued with your research.

From what you can tell, the professional supes were employed by the Global Defense Agency aka the GDA. The veteran heroes were known as the Guardians of the Globe, and there was the Teen Team, composed of younger heroes. Invincible wasn’t part of either. He assisted both groups in the past, usually to evacuate civilians. 

No interviews, no press conferences. 

He was surprisingly mysterious. With how much of a flirt he was, you thought for sure he would be the showboating type, but judging from the poorly recorded videos of him zooming around, he did his job quickly and left before news reporters could hound him. 

There were only so many news articles and blog posts about him before you realized there was nothing else to study. 

You opened your notebook and made a summary of everything you knew so far:

Womanizer

Doesn’t remember me from childhood

English major *shares same philosophy class

Bass player 

Debuted as a hero four months ago

Not part of a team

Popular as civilian and hero 

Home life?

You circled the last item on your list several times. Try as you might, Mark’s parents were mysteries to you. Omni-Man disappeared ten years ago and you had nothing on Debbie Grayson. Her son didn’t have her as a friend on Facebook and he had zero pictures of him and parents.

“Not even a hint?” You asked the system.

System: (づ_ど)

Giving up, you decide to switch topics and begin digitizing your lecture notes.

[You’re actually studying?]

“Not like I have anything better to do. I can’t exactly hack into the Pentagon’s database and my head hurts from all that research, and since someone refuses to be useful, I’m stuck on what to do now.”

[...]

The system fell quiet and let you be.

The minutes flew by as you typed.

“Excuse me.” A feminine voice whispered and your knee jerked against the table.

You gasped in pain, earning a few looks from the neighboring students. 

“Sorry,” the snooper said.

[Ding. The character known as Amber Bennett has made contact.]

No kidding! Couldn’t you have warned me that she was here!?

[Host looked so deeply invested in studying that this system did not wish to disturb you.]

[Fufufu.]

Rubbing your knee, you met Amber’s apologetic eyes. “I didn’t mean to spook you, but uh, your typing’s… a little loud.”

Ah. That would explain the hard glares from some of the people here. “Sorry, I got too excited I guess. I’ll keep it down.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at your desk. “By the way, I can’t help but notice, you're in Professor Gonzales’ class, right?”

When she saw your brows crease in confusion, she added, “Biochemistry?”

“Oh, yeah.” 

“We share the same class then, I’m Amber Bennett.”

“I know.”

She blinked, wide-eyed.

You quickly added, “You’re one of the scholarship students. I saw the university page congratulating you.”

“Yeah, um, about that…” She turned to your monitor. “Your notes are easy to follow. Especially compared to the professor’s powerpoint.”

“I try.”

She grabbed her shoulder. “This is gonna sound weird but are you available for tutoring?”

“Tutoring?”

There was a collective “shhh” from all directions and Amber ducked her head.

“See, I’ve been struggling with chemistry since the first day and I’ve never failed before, but–”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

You nodded.

She beamed. “That’s great! I think we’re already in the same group chat for the freshmen course but just in case–” She pulled out a pen and you pushed a blank page towards her. She scribbled her number.

“I’ll pay you, of course.”

“Sure, we can talk about details some other time.”

“I really appreciate this–”

You gave her your name and her smile brightened. “You’re a lifesaver! I should go now before the rest of the library decides to crucify us both.”

You raised your hand in goodbye and then picked up your notebook.

No, Amber, you’re the lifesaver here.

***

That evening, Amber asked to meet with you at the campus coffee shop. 

The Coffee Mug, more colloquially known as The Mug, was three storeys high and looked far more interesting than any Starbucks you’ve been to. Cubist and art deco paintings lined the bare brick walls, contrasting the wood and iron furniture. Bossa nova jazz played from the ceiling speakers.

“I gotta hand it to the author, or whoever, whatever made this place, they know how to design a good-looking cafe.”

You almost didn’t mind that the person who asked for your help was already eight minutes late. 

You were getting impatient, mostly because it was seven o’clock and you still haven’t had dinner. You had a black coffee to stave off the hunger pangs, but the scent of toasted savory pastries and the sight of cake called out to you like a siren. 

[Just order, Host, don’t tell me you’re waiting for Amber so she could pay.]

“What do you take me for?” You harrumphed. “I’d love to, but it would be rude to start eating without her.”

[!!]

[Really? How so?]

You shrugged.

“But drinking is okay?”

“Yes.”

[You humans sure do like making things harder for yourselves.]

“Tell me about it.”

God, where the Hell is she? 

As you started debating whether manners were truly necessary, your phone pinged. It was Amber. 

Hey, are u at the cafe?

Im so sorry, my group meeting decided to have overtime.

I wired u some money, dinner’s on me. sorry again! 

Well, damn. Guess God does listen. 

Spirits lifted, you got up and practically skipped towards the menu. This place might’ve been called a coffee shop, it had a big menu not unlike a diner’s, and the food selection was listed with colorful chalk on giant blackboards hanging behind the counter. 

You’ve been thinking about what to eat even while you were at the table. But even now you weren’t sure what to get. A sandwich and salad combo? The lasagna? Maybe something from their all-day breakfast? 

[Ding.]

“I recommend their three-cheese omelette.”

You barely had to turn your head to find Mark’s chin hovering over your shoulder. Soft dark bangs tickled your cheek.

“Mark.”

“Gorgeous.” He winked and then approached the counter.

The girl handling the cashier noticed him and her surprise turned to coyness as she pushed back a pink strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “Hey, Mark.” If this were a cartoon you’d imagine her eyes would be in the shape of hearts right now. 

You couldn’t blame her. Looking around the floor, a mix of subtle and unsubtle staring were aimed at Mark. You understood. Six feet, jet black hair, strong biceps, a pretty waist that led to the most callipygous butt you’ve ever seen. 

That being said, you’d rather not get into the habit of ogling at rear ends without permission, so you walked closer and stood beside him.

Mark leaned onto the counter, flashing a flirtatious smile. “Hey, Kelsey. Can I get my usual, for dine-in, and an om–”

“I’ll get the large grilled chicken salad with honey mustard and one medium choco mint frappe.”

Mark snorted, but didn’t say anything else as he handed her a few dollars.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t be like that, consider this my olive branch.”

“For what?”

“For cutting our date short and not walking you home.”

“First of all, that wasn’t a date, because if it was, then your standards need quality control. Secondly, it wasn’t like I needed to come home. I still had classes.” 

Not wanting to third-wheel, Kelsey put Mark’s change on the small metal plate beside the register and hurried off to prepare the orders.

Without skipping a beat, Mark put the change in the tip box. “Then what is your ideal date?”

You tilted your head.

“You said my standards need to improve, but how do I know yours is any good?”

“I guess you don’t.” You crossed your arms. 

His grin turned mischievous. “Let me guess, you want a fancy dinner? No, you don’t seem like the type who dresses up frequently. I know, is it this cafe? Are coffee shops your thing? Bookish girls like these kinds of places.”

You turned on your heels. “I’m ignoring you now.”

Folding his hands behind him, he trailed after you, remaining two steps behind, pretending like he couldn’t outpace you with those long legs of his.

“Wait, is that why you’re here? You’re waiting for a date?” He watched you take a seat. “That can’t be it though, who orders before their date?”

Refusing to look at him, you opened your phone as you expressed your gratitude, “Thank you for paying, now would you kindly get lost?”

[Host, what are you doing? This is the perfect time to seduce him.]

Yeah, not happening. I need to be five kinds of drunk before I even consider– “What are you doing?” 

He slid into the seat across from yours. “Hey, I’m hungry too.”

“There are other tables, y’know.”

He cocked his eyebrow and you briefly scanned the room. Right. This was a university cafe. Dammit. He did pay for your food, and he wasn’t totally obnoxious to warrant a kick out. 

With a sigh, you opted to just ignore him and kept refreshing your phone.

“So, are you going to study here?”

“...”

“The music’s pretty nice, if a little basic.” 

“...”

“I can’t really stand music when I’m studying, or the sound of people talking. When I’m reading, I’m reading. When I’m listening to music, that’s all I’m going to do. I guess I’m not a multitasker, I like to think of myself as–”

You slammed twenty-five dollars on the table. “Please take this and leave.”

He put his elbows on the table and leaned closer. “Nah.”

Ugh.

“What do you want from me?”

He flexed his arm and leaned his chin on the palm of his hand. “Tell me why else you’re here.”

“To eat dinner.”

“And?”

“To study.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You want me to leave, don’t you?”

“...I have an appointment.”

“Is the appointment romantic in nature?”

“Not even a little bit. It’s purely academic, and I’d like to keep it confidential, so could you–”

Kelsey arrived holding two trays. “One large grilled chicken salad with one medium choco mint frappe, and one freshly toasted cheese and sausage eggdesal[1] with a cup of black coffee.”

“Thanks, Kels, but you didn’t have to bring it here, I would’ve gotten it.” Mark said. 

She giggled, “Nah, it’s the least I could do. It’s not everyday you stay here to eat.”

“Well, I still feel bad since the place is packed.”

“It’s my pleasure. We’re not super busy right now since most of the students here just buy one drink for their whole stay.”

“You’re a doll.”

“Enjoy your meal.” She smiled at both of you and returned to her station.

He took a sip of the coffee. “Sweet girl, that one. You know, she’s a physics major–”

“How do you do that?”

His lashes flickered over the rim of the cup.

“How can you… charm people so effortlessly?”

Foamy coffee squirted through his mouth and nose and onto his sandwich. Luckily for you, you reflexively pulled your plate back just in time.

You pulled out the pack of tissue you kept in your backpack and slid it towards him. 

He patted his chest and coughed into the tissues. 

You folded your hands over the table and waited patiently for him to regain his bearings. Once his coughing calmed down, you asked, “Well?”

“Wow. You…wow.”

“It’s a genuine question, I think I deserve a genuine answer.” If it weren’t for your unique circumstance, you would have folded like a cheap hooker if Mark Grayson approached you the way he did after the philosophy lecture. The rest of your brain would’ve had no chances in overriding your hypothalamus. Or your loins. 

“I don’t know where to begin, I–”

“Mark?” 

Amber was here.

“Wow,” he breathed, attention switching from Amber to you. “You really did have a meeting.”

She looked baffled but there was no trace of anger or anything. “Why’re you here, Mark? You hate eating here.” 

“I was just about to leave.” He picked up his sandwich. “See ya, girls.” And with that, he departed, leaving you alone with Amber, who was–according to past posts–his ex-girlfriend. 

Amber laid her bag on the now empty chair. “Sorry for being late, I didn’t expect us to take two hours deciding on how to divide a simple report on childhood obesity.”

“It’s okay, ‘cause of you I just found my second favorite place.” The first will always be your bedroom. 

Amber twiddled with her fingers as you poured the honey mustard over the salad.

“Mark didn’t, I mean, he–”

“I didn’t tell him about the tutoring,” you reassured her. “I didn’t know if you wanted people to know, I just told him it was for school.”

“Really? Thank you! But that’s not what I was going to say.” She cleared her throat. “How do you know Mark?”

“We attend the same philosophy class.”

She looked everywhere except your gaze. “This probably isn’t any of my business, but you seem like a nice person so you should know that Mark doesn’t do the girlfriend thing.”

You used your fork to toss your salad. “I see.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t evil or anything. He’s a sweet guy, it’s just that, he isn’t boyfriend material.”

You nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”

She let out a sigh of relief. “Good, good. Listen, if you do want to hook up with him, that’s totally your call, I just thought I should tell you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be too busy for a boyfriend, anyway. Thanks, I really do appreciate it.”

Mark Grayson? Please. Not even in a hundred lifetimes. 

[ Ding. ]

You dropped your fork.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, my hand slipped,” you muttered, trying not to gawk at the system’s holographic screen.

[Affection: 12%. Darkening: 3%.]

Glossary: [1] eggdesal: an egg sandwich that uses pandesal, a sweet and salty bread roll. It can be served plain with just the egg (either with scrambled or over easy), or with other fillings like bacon, sausages, and/or cheese.

@weponxwrites @ratkidcalledallie @qxuanii @lilacoaks

CHAPTER 4: Just Cut Their Red Thread of Fate Series Masterlist

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[gatorbites-imagines]

Finding out you can induce lactation in men and imagining how it would work with pregvincible like UGHHHH yes viltrumilk the most nutritious milk in the galaxy and oh my goodness so many ways to use this imagine nipple torture sucking biting pulling those now overly sensitive teets.

Omni Mark is having a field day with this because it makes him feel more like the househusband he knows he is!!

Viltrumites only weak spot on their body being their nipples would be so god damn funny, especially post pregnancy. Like, other areas of their body might be more sensitive than before, but their chests are just the worst. 

Whos got the best milk? Dont shoot me, but Nolan. The other viltrumwives would be more used to eating to survive and build muscle, but Nolan has been through this before, or more like he knows what Debbie went through, so his body gets the chance to do what it needs to do. 

I feel like viltrumite Milk is just, kinda thick. You know, like milk with a really high fat content? The type that you can feel like, a layer on your tongue even after you swallow it. Would also honestly be better than any actual meal, it would have all the stuff you need, and more. Who needs protein shakes and supplements. Hell, your hair and skin would even get better from drinking it, especially if its straight from the tap. 

I just know omni-mark is giddy about it, but so is moustache mark, hes just a lot more shy and quiet about it.  

Now, my question is. Do the hybrid marks only have two nipples, or do they have eight? 

[flibbertigibbety-jibber-jabber]

I have my own Invincible Variant OC btw… I made him before I knew GDA Mark already existed but here he is anyway ❤️❤️❤️ my baby boy Graysted

Agent Markus Graysted, aka "Defensible" or "Graysted", was raised by the GDA (with Cecil as his legal guardian) after Debbie died and Nolan left, who left him behind due to bad health/sickness. He has no idea how exactly Debbie's death happened or why exactly his father left, and still believes it is a Viltrumite's purpose to protect and guard a planet. So, the GDA fixed him up (augments and implants) and trained him to be a hero.

Him and Cecil don't exactly have a father-son relationship either. They won't admit it either. Btw.

Socially he's a little awkward, blunt, and nerdy! He was brought up with the guardians, some GDA employees, and a few other young heros, but he's but he doesn't get out a whole lot and is often nervous to.

On the field he's a bit of a stuck-up, bossy yes-man who lives by "saving the world". He does what he's told and leaves his feelings about it at the door (…or, he tries to.)

MarkAmber plays a big part, but sadly is not endgame (EveAmber is! I love EveAmber so much 💞) this is just one of my fav SS edits I did recently.

Also here's the PNG reference for his suit yaaayyyy

And before anyone says anything about "ugh if he's sick that's a cop-out" I have a chronic illness and would like augments and implants. This is a projection. Plus, I thought about it in how it might react to the Viltrumite heritage. Imagine ur body has super healing but not the resources to actually heal so it just starts draining all resources and your body starts basically killing itself?

All those augments and shit need regular repairs, and this forces him to remain reliant on the GDA and gives them a "just in case" through his entire body. He truly couldn't leave if he wanted to. He doesn't.

[redseuxx]

Can you draw Mohawk mark being cute 👉👈

Gang, he kinda kyutt fr. (i aint coloring and i HATEE drawing hands BURNN)

Such a charmer. Why so bitchy, batman?

This is from another ask... No idea where it went. (ASK: Make Mark do smth silly)

He breaking it. Yeah, they gottem dawgs out 'cuz why not.

[0bticeo]

me, in the middle of the most stressful exam season ever:

also me: omw to write for lenseless invincible

[cringe6fail6star6]

(Variant)Mark who tells his parents that hes saving money n has a part time job while mooching off stalker!reader is such a funny idea to me.

Bc at some point reader might stop: or dont leave money in his locker, or dont give him a love letter that goes into his routine in a creepy manner, or miss out on some clear hint mark gave and now he has to tell properly that he wants something. But saying it forward is humiliating to him. Mark is proper man and doesnt need some random classmate that just HAPPENS to be loaded AND obsessed with him. Mark wont beg them for nothing.

And then reader doesnt pay his ticket for some concert he wanted to go to. So even though he told literally everyone that he will be there - he cant.

His social circle now nudges him to ask his parents. His parents suggest he takes money from his (non-existant) savings. Mark bites the bullet and starts talking nicer to reader bc they ARE his piggybank now. And hes sending them voice mail and begs for them to pay for it. It clearly works on reader, but they dont crack. And now Mark thinks hes losing his sugar daddy and was about to kick their teeth in before his friends pull him away.

Reader tries SO hard to not take the bait, knowing Mark will stop acting like this the moment they buy him that stupid ticket, so they lead him on for longer. Right up until the day of the concert. Mark was ready to suck them off at this point. Hes desperate. Reader didnt know it. Or that he was going to suggest it next time they meet. So before he can say anything they give him the ticket.

Mark: okay i--

Reader, handing the tickets: yeah, sorry for not buying the tickets earlier. The site wouldnt work for me so i had to buy them offline and, ya know, im not that great in social interactions so it took a while. But here you go! Ill see you in the crowd.

Mark: huh...

Mark, with ticket in his hand: i was going to suggest sucking you off for these tickets. Thank god i dont have to, i would never suck off someone like you.

Reader: oh trust me i dont want you to suck me off

Mark, stops in his tracks:

Mark, defensive now: huh? You think i cant do it?

Reader: :0

Reader:....>:)

[lazy-ahh]

It would be cool if you wrote something for maskless mark x kryptonian!malereader

(YOU WERE) MY HOME

pairing maskless! mark grayson x (kryptonian) male reader

you memorized the exact shade of brown in mark’s eyes. the way his laugh crinkles his nose. how his hands always tremble after a fight. he memorized the way your body went limp in his arms when the kryptonite hit. how your blood looked smeared across his suit. the exact second your heartbeat stopped. (he’s not your mark. but when he kisses you like he’s drowning, you let him.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

your earliest memory is fire—not the gentle kind, not the warm glow of a hearth, but the violent, screaming kind. the kind that eats metal and flesh alike as your family’s ship tore itself apart in earth’s atmosphere, the heat so intense you could feel it searing your skin even through your crash harness. the scent of burning circuits and something darker, something organic—your parents, still strapped into their seats, their bodies limp and wrong in ways your child-mind couldn’t name but understood instinctively. you remember the way your throat burned from screaming, the way your fingers trembled as you clawed through twisted wreckage, your tiny hands slick with ash and something wet that wasn’t yours. then—cold grass beneath your palms, the shock of it against your skin as you collapsed in a stranger’s backyard, the night air biting at your tear-streaked face. you didn’t know where you were. you didn’t know if you were dying. you just knew you were alone.

until you weren’t.

a boy—messy-haired, pajama-clad, eyes wide with curiosity instead of fear—peered down at you like you were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. "whoa," mark whispered, voice hushed with awe, as if you were a fallen star instead of something broken. "are you an alien?" you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. your voice was lost somewhere between the wreckage and the weight pressing against your chest, but it didn’t matter because mark didn’t wait for one. he just reached out, small fingers brushing your arm like you were something precious, and you shattered. you clung to him, shaking, gasping, and he held you back without hesitation, his arms tight around your shoulders like he already knew you needed to be held together. neither of you understood what had happened—you were both just kids, too young for death, too young for the weight of the universe—but mark didn’t need to understand to be kind. he whispered soft, clumsy reassurances against your hair, rubbed your back in slow circles the way his mother did for him when he cried, his voice wobbling but determined. "it’s okay," he kept saying, even though it wasn’t, even though it would never be okay again. "i got you."

mark always had good intentions.

after that night, you were never alone again. the grayson household wrapped around you like a second skin—debbie’s gentle hands guiding you through human meals that tasted too rich, too warm compared to the nutrient packs from your ship. nolan’s steady voice explaining earth’s customs with patient amusement when you stared too long at things like skyscrapers or television. and mark—always mark—dragging you into his world with both hands, insisting you share his bed when the unfamiliar silence of your new room kept you awake. the mattress was too soft, nothing like the firm sleep-pods you were raised in, but mark’s presence beside you, his quiet snoring, made it feel like home.

cecil came later, all sharp suits and sharper eyes, but his grip on your shoulder was firm, not cruel, when he signed the adoption papers. you even remember cecil's expression softening a tiny bit when you finally mustered up the courage to look up at him. "you’re special, kid. you could do a lot of good in this world." he’d said, and you didn’t realize then how much that would cost you. the training was brutal—learning to control the way your fists could shatter concrete, how your vision blurred red-gold when anger spiked too hot in your chest—but you endured it. not because you cared about being a hero, but because nolan had quietly told both you and mark that he would inherit powers one day. and mark? mark already dreamed of it. of soaring through skies, of saving people with that bright, fearless grin of his. "we’ll be unstoppable," he’d say, bumping his shoulder against yours, and you’d nod, because all you ever wanted was to stand beside him.

you remember the little things most: the way mark split his peanut butter sandwiches with you in the cafeteria when you couldn’t stomach the school’s mystery meat. how he’d sneak you onto the roof at night, pointing out constellations he’d misname on purpose just to hear you laugh and correct him. the winter your fingers went numb during a snowball fight, and mark—without hesitation—pulled off his gloves and pressed your hands between his own, blowing warm air onto your skin until the feeling returned. "better?" he’d asked, cheeks pink from cold, breath fogging between you. you lied and said yes, even though your chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

and then there were the bigger moments: the first time you flew together, mark whooping as he clung to your back, his laughter vibrating against your spine. the way he’d look at you after messy, early missions—bloodied but triumphant, grinning like you’d hung the stars yourselves.

somewhere between stolen lunches and whispered secrets, between scraped knees and shared victories, you fell in love. not all at once, but slowly, inevitably, like gravity pulling you into orbit around him—helpless, hopeless, a collision course written in the stars. and the cruelest part? you never even tried to stop it.

you memorized the shape of his name like a prayer, the syllables curling soft and reverent against your tongue every time you almost said it: i love you, i love you, i love you. it lingered in the spaces between your ribs, ached behind your teeth, spilled into every quiet gesture you couldn’t stop yourself from making. the way you’d fix his suit after battles, fingers lingering a second too long on the fabric stretched over his shoulders. how you’d always bring him his favorite snack after patrol, even when he forgot to ask. the nights you stayed up late just to listen to him ramble about his day, your chest so full it threatened to crack open.

you were brave in every way that mattered—except one. the words never made it past your lips, because you knew. you knew. mark liked girls. loved them, even. the way his eyes followed amber in the hallways, the soft, dazed smile he’d get when eve laughed. you watched it all with a hollow kind of hunger, wondering if maybe—maybe—you could be the exception. if his hands, so careful when they patched up your wounds, might one day cradle your face instead. if his laughter, bright and endless, might one day be yours in a way that wasn’t just friendship.

(you remember one night, the two of you tangled together on the couch after a movie, his head lolling sleepily against your shoulder. your breath caught, heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. this is enough, you told yourself. this has to be enough. but then he shifted, his lips brushing accidentally against the curve of your neck, and for one delirious second, you let yourself hope.

he didn’t even notice. just yawned and mumbled, "g’night, dude," like you hadn’t just short-circuited entirely.)

you never overstepped. never pushed. you loved him too much for that. so you stayed—always giving, always there, hands outstretched but never grasping. and mark? mark never pulled away. never acted uncomfortable. just smiled at you like you were his favorite person in the world (and you were, just not in the way you wanted).

sometimes, you wondered if that was worse.

but of course, ever the giver, you stayed. continued to pour yourself into the spaces between his broken pieces after nolan left him shattered across that mountain. held ice packs to his bruises when his healing factor was too slow, stayed awake through his nightmares when the memories of his father's fists became too loud. every life he couldn't save weighed on him like stones in his pockets, and you? you became the water that buoyed him up, whispering "it wasn't your fault" into the hollow of his collarbone when he shook apart in your arms. and when he'd look at you afterward—eyes wet with gratitude and something unreadable but familiar, mouth soft with something you didn't dare name—you let yourself pretend, just for a second, that it meant more.

but then the drift began. slow, like the tide pulling back from shore—that subtle, inevitable retreat you didn't notice until you were already standing on damp sand, wondering when the water had gotten so far away. you told yourself it was fine. normal. that this was just what happened when two people grew up and became heroes, when the weight of the world settled across their shoulders like second capes. mark was drowning in responsibilities, just like you were—global crises that left blood under your fingernails for days, collateral damage measured in broken buildings and broken families, cecil's ever-growing demands that came with that particular tilt of his head that meant refusal wasn't an option.

you'd see mark across crowded briefing rooms, the shadows under his eyes darker each time, his shoulders tensed like he was still bracing for his father's blows. sometimes your fingers would twitch with the memory of how easily they used to fit between his shoulder blades, how he'd lean into your touch like a sunflower chasing light. but in the rare moments he surfaced for air—between missions, during stolen minutes in the guardians' lounge—he never reached for you. not like before. not with that easy, unconscious trust that used to have him slinging an arm around your neck before he'd even finished saying hello.

instead, there were new distances measured in centimeters of couch space between you, in conversations that ended just a beat too soon, in the way he'd sometimes look at you like he was trying to solve an equation written just behind your eyes. you told yourself it was the exhaustion. the trauma. the growing up. you told yourself it didn't feel like losing something you'd never really had in the first place.

(you remember that particular tuesday night with crystal clarity—the way the dim lamplight caught the exhaustion in the slope of mark's shoulders as amber's name flashed across his phone screen again, the third time in forty-seven minutes. the couch cushions dipped under his weight as he slumped against you, his forehead pressing into the junction of your neck and shoulder like he was trying to fuse himself there. you could feel the frustrated heat of his skin through your shirt, could count each uneven breath that gusted against your collarbone. "she says i'm never present," he muttered, the words cracking open like overripe fruit, all sticky vulnerability. your fingers spasmed against his back, nails leaving half-moon indents in your own palms as you fought the urge to fist your hands in his shirt and scream i'm here, i'm always here, why can't you see me? instead, you traced the familiar topography of his spine through thin fabric, your palm skating over the knobs of vertebrae you'd set back in place after countless battles. "then be present, mark," you whispered, the advice settling like powdered glass between your teeth. he never knew you'd rehearsed those exact words in your bathroom mirror that morning, watching your reflection mouth them until your expression stopped twisting into something ugly. never knew you kept a mental tally of all the times you'd talked him through his relationship problems like some masochistic saint.)

you were stupid. selfish. a fraud wearing a martyr's skin. because when mark and amber finally shattered apart—when you found him sitting on your roof outside your bedroom window in the rain, his hands shaking around a lukewarm cup of coffee you'd made him just how he liked—your grief came in layers. the first was genuine: the way your throat closed at his red-rimmed eyes, the immediate urge to fix what you couldn't. but beneath that? something rotten and hungry uncurling in your ribcage, whispering maybe now. maybe me. the shame hit like a solar flare, burning through your veins hotter than any kryptonian heat vision ever could—because even as you pulled him into a hug, even as you let him stain your shirt with tears, some treacherous part of you was already calculating if this pain of his might finally turn his gaze your way.

and then—

the words hit like a kryptonite blade between your ribs, delivered with that familiar, awkward scratch at the back of his neck that you'd always found endearing. "hey, so. eve and i. we're, uh. together." mark's grin was bashful in the way that made his left dimple appear, afternoon sunlight gilding the curve of his cheek like he was something holy. your fingers spasmed around the coffee cup—the one you'd brought him back from that paris mission last year—and you took a hurried gulp, letting the near-boiling liquid scald your tongue raw. the pain was a welcome distraction from the way your vision blurred. "that's great, man," you managed, the lie sticking like wet sand in your throat. you'd gotten good at this, at stitching your voice into something steady when everything inside you was collapsing.

he didn't notice. of course he didn't. mark never saw the way your breath hitched when he touched you, never caught you staring at the place where his t-shirt rode up when he stretched. now he was practically vibrating with the need to share, knees bouncing as he leaned forward. "she kissed me after the downtown mission," he confessed, voice dropping like you were co-conspirators in this joy. "like, right in the middle of all the rubble? and her laugh—" his fingers fluttered over his sternum, mapping the phantom flip of his heart, and you thought distantly that you could chart every fracture spreading through your own chest in real time. the ceramic mug creaked ominously in your grip, but you couldn't feel the heat anymore, couldn't feel anything except the terrible, perfect clarity of this moment: mark, glowing with happiness that wasn't yours to claim, and you, committing every detail to memory like a masochist preserving their own ruin.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the sky isn't just red—it's hemorrhaging, great arterial sprays of crimson light pulsing behind thick, choking clouds that don't move like normal clouds should. below you, the streets gape open in jagged wounds, asphalt peeling back like the skin of some massive creature trying to escape its own bones. the air isn't just smoky—it's alive with the taste of burning copper and molten steel, each breath scraping your throat raw with the ghosts of a thousand shattered lives. your cape snaps violently behind you, a desperate thing trying to flee the carnage, while your heart jackhammers against your sternum with such force you're half-afraid it'll crack through and go tumbling down into the ruins below.

chicago isn't just burning.

it's being unmade.

again.

you've seen this city broken more times than you can count—watched it crumble under alien invasions, superpowered brawls, the careless collateral damage of beings who called themselves heroes. you know the drill by now: the screaming, the sirens, the way the news cameras always zoom in too close on crying children. you've memorized earth's sick little dance of destruction and rebirth, how it always stitches itself back together with temporary scaffolds and hollow promises of "never again."

but this?

this is different.

because the figures streaking through the carnage below—the ones reducing buildings to dust and civilians and heroes alike to red smears on concrete—they all wear his face. his jawline. his messy dark hair. they move with his fighting style, shout with his voice, even bleed the same shade of red. but their eyes? their eyes are all wrong. cold and chaotic where his are warm, empty where his always held that stubborn spark of hope.

none of them are your mark.

the sky weeps fire around you as you hover above the carnage, the acrid smoke stinging your eyes worse than the truth ever could. somewhere in this nightmare of broken concrete and broken bodies, the real mark fights for his life—while you're trapped here, your lungs burning with the cruel joke of it all. that in this city of a thousand twisted copies wearing his face, the most unbearable pain wouldn't be failing to find him... but reaching for him only to grasp another hollow imitation.

you don't know where your mark is. he's probably halfway across the world by now, his arm slung protectively around eve's waist as they fight back-to-back like some perfect, seamless team. while you? you're knee-deep in rubble, using your body as a human shield between collapsing buildings and innocent civilians—always the bridesmaid, never the groom. or something like that.

the irony tastes like blood in your mouth—metallic and thick, the kind that lingers after a punch to the jaw. you’d stood like this days ago in the guardians’ headquarters, your trembling fingers digging into your palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents, half-moons of desperation carved into your skin. mark had been gearing up for another mission with her, his suit clinging to his shoulders in that way that always made your throat tight. his gloves smelled like ozone and sweat when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him mid-motion as he reached for his mask. your grip was too tight, your pulse too loud in your ears.

"you're always with her," you’d choked out, the words scraping your throat raw, tearing free like shrapnel. your voice fractured like the sidewalk now splitting beneath your feet, each crack exposing years of buried longing.

it all came tumbling out then—how you’d memorized the exact shade of brown in his eyes (warm, like earth after rain), how you’d counted every faint freckle scattered across his nose like constellations. how you’d give up your powers, your legacy, your name if it meant he’d look at you just once the way he looked at her—soft and awed, like she’d hung the stars herself. the confession burned worse than kryptonite, searing your tongue, leaving your mouth tasting like smoke and regret.

for one suspended second, mark’s face did something complicated—his lips parted like you’d punched the air from his lungs, his pupils blowing wide, dark with something unreadable before his gaze dropped to your mouth. your heart stuttered, a trapped bird slamming against your ribs.

you didn’t know why you’d said it. maybe it was the alcohol rex had shoved into your hands earlier, his smirk sharp as he’d muttered, "drink up, superboy. maybe it’ll make you stop staring at him like a kicked puppy." you’d swallowed it all down—the bitter drink, the bitter truth—and now here you were, spilling your guts like some pathetic, lovesick fool, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

mark had frozen like you’d hit him with kryptonite, his hands suspended in air, fingers still curled around the edge of his half-raised mask. the familiar crease between his brows deepened, his lips parting slightly—not in anger, but in dawning, terrifying comprehension. "what?" he breathed, voice barely above a whisper, and you saw it then—the exact moment realization struck. his breath hitched, his pulse visible in the jump of his throat, his gaze dropping to your mouth one again for one electrifying second before snapping back up, wide and startled.

in that suspended heartbeat between confession and consequence, you could have sworn something shifted behind his eyes—something warm and terrified and impossibly, dangerously like reciprocation. like maybe, just maybe, he’d been waiting for this too.

then the comms crackled to life with eve’s voice, bright and urgent, and whatever fragile moment existed between you shattered like the storefront windows now raining glass down around you. "mark? you there?"

he flinched like you'd caught him with his hands in the fire, his mask slipping into place with a sound that felt too final—like a coffin lid sealing shut. "we'll talk later," he muttered, but the words came out all wrong, cracked down the middle like his voice was splitting apart the same way your ribs were. you saw everything in painful clarity: the tremor in his fingers as they fumbled with his mask's edge, the way his adam's apple bobbed like he was swallowing back something thick and unsaid. then he was gone in a streak of blue and yellow, leaving you standing there with your heart ripped clean from your chest, still beating raw in your palms. you wondered if this was how icarus felt—watching the sun flee from him, knowing he'd flown too close.

you became a hero for him. learned to fly not because the sky called to you, but because it was where he lived. trained your fists to break bones only so you could be the one to set his afterwards. stood beside him through every battle, every loss, every quiet midnight where the weight of the world pressed too hard against his shoulders. always beside him. never with him. never the way you truly wanted—fingers laced together, mouths sharing breath instead of battlefield strategies.

now, as you wrench a sobbing child from collapsing rubble, their tiny fingers clutching at your collar like you're the only solid thing left in this nightmare, you wonder if that hesitation in his eyes meant he felt it too—that inexorable pull between you two, like twin stars caught in each other's gravity. or if you'd just shattered the best thing in your life for nothing more than a maybe.

a building groans nearby, its steel skeleton screaming as concrete rains down in deadly chunks. you move before you think, your body slamming into the structure with enough force to crack your spine. the impact knocks the air from your lungs, but you hold firm, muscles burning as you lower the crumbling mass inch by agonizing inch. people scramble free beneath you, their screams mixing with the distant wail of sirens. you don't have time to gasp before the shockwave hits—another explosion ripping through the street, sending you skidding backward through debris. smoke fills your mouth, your nose, your pores, but all you can taste is the ghost of his name.

that’s when you see him.

floating there like some half-remembered dream, blood painting abstract patterns across his cheekbones. but—no mask. no goggles. nothing to hide the way his face transforms when he sees you, his eyes widening like you’re the first real thing he’s seen in years. the moment his gaze lands on you, something fractures deep in your chest—not the clean break of a bone, but the slow, seismic splitting of tectonic plates—only to knit itself back together with golden thread when his lips part in quiet awe.

this mark looks at you like you’re the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life. like you’re water after decades of drought, like you’re the first star he’s seen after being trapped in an endless night. his eyes trace your face like he’s memorizing it, like he’s trying to drink you in before you disappear again—and oh, god, the way his expression softens when he realizes it’s really you, like his entire body sighs in relief.

then he’s moving, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hands coming up to cradle your face before stopping just short, trembling in the air like he’s afraid you’ll vanish once again if he touches you. "hey," he murmurs, his voice so tender it aches, the sound wrapping around you like sunlight. "it’s okay. i got you."

and suddenly you’re seven years old again, trembling in the wreckage of your pod, your tiny fingers clutching at the grass as the world spins too fast around you. you remember the warmth of mark’s small body pressing against yours, his arms tight around your shoulders like he could shield you from the entire universe if he just held on hard enough. the way he whispered, "it’s okay, it’s okay," into your hair like a prayer, his voice wobbling but sure.

this mark is looking at you with that same fierce protectiveness, that same unwavering devotion—but now it’s layered with something deeper, something older. something that makes your breath catch. he looks at you like you’re the axis his world spins around, like every scar on your body is a constellation he wants to worship. like he’s loved you in every lifetime, and will love you in every one to come.

a sob claws its way up your throat, raw and broken, because this—this is how you’ve always wanted to be seen. not as a sidekick, not as a best friend, but as the living, breathing center of someone’s universe. and here, in the middle of a burning city, with a version of mark who wears his heart as openly as he wears his scars, you finally are.

you let him carry you in his arms, let his fingers curl protectively around the back of your head as he tucks your face against the warm hollow of his neck. the wind screams past your ears as he takes off, but you don’t fight it—don’t even tense. your mission brief echoes dimly in your mind (neutralize all variants, show no mercy) but it feels distant now, drowned out by the steady thump of his pulse beneath your lips. let them see, you think hazily. let the whole world watch as he flies you away like something precious.

next thing you know, you’re perched on the edge of your bathroom sink, his hips slotting between your knees as he patches you up with practiced hands. he’d flown you high enough earlier that the sun could kiss your wounds closed, but he still fusses—dabbing antiseptic over the cuts that haven’t quite healed, his touch feather-light when you flinch. "still hurts here?" he murmurs, fingers hovering over your ribs. you nod, and he makes a soft, wounded noise in his throat before reaching for the salve.

you watch, hypnotized, as he cups the salve between his palms—the same way you've done for yourself a thousand lonely nights—letting his body heat soften it before spreading it across your aching skin. his fingers move with practiced ease, tracing the map of your wounds like he's reading braille, like every bruise and cut tells a story only he understands. "you know my place better than i do," you murmur, voice scraped raw from smoke and unshed tears.

his hands freeze mid-motion. when he lifts his gaze, his eyes are bottomless pools of ink in the dim bathroom light, swirling with emotions too complex to name. "of course i do," he breathes, the words spilling out like a confession dragged from his chest. his thumb finds the sharp angle of your hipbone, brushing once—a fleeting touch that burns hotter than any solar flare. "how could i not when i spent most of my life with you?" his voice drops to a whisper, cracking open like an eggshell. "when i spent years memorizing the way you breathe when you're hurting? the way you grit your teeth slightly when you're lying?"

the air between you grows thick, charged like the moment before lightning strikes. you can feel his pulse where his fingertips rest against your skin, rapid as a hummingbird's wings. the mirror fogs with your shared breath, obscuring your reflections until it's just this—just his hands on your body, his truths in your mouth, this fragile thing you've both been too afraid to name.

the confession lingers in the humid air between you, delicate as the steam spiraling from the faucet, as transient as the condensation tracing paths down the mirror. you ache to ask—how many realities exist where your fingers intertwine as more than friends? how many versions of himself experienced this moment with you? but then his calloused palm rises to frame your jaw, his thumb sweeping salve across your cheekbone with a tenderness that steals your voice. the medicine stings, but you'd endure a thousand cuts just to keep his hands this close.

"there," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your skin like a summer breeze through open curtains. the scent of him—ozone and the faint metallic tang of blood—mixes with the antiseptic's sharpness. "good as new."

except you're anything but. you're a constellation of fresh wounds and ancient scars, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath your skin where your bodies press together. yet as his forehead comes to rest against yours, as his lashes brush your cheek when he blinks, the familiar ache in your chest doesn't feel like shattering.

it feels like dawn after endless night. like gravity finally pulling you into orbit. like the first full breath after years of drowning.

it feels like every cliché about home you ever rolled your eyes at—because home was never a place. it's the boy who learned your pain before he learned your favorite color, who carries the shape of your wounds in his hands like something precious.

the warmth of his hands on your skin feels like sunrise after decades of darkness—like finally breathing after being submerged too long. for one heartbeat, two, you let yourself drown in it, this dizzying sensation of being cherished, of being truly seen for the first time in your life. then reality comes crashing back like a fist to the gut, bitter and violent. this isn't your mark. can't be your mark. this is one of the invaders, the destroyers, the monsters who painted chicago's streets red with innocent blood. his hands may cradle you with familiar tenderness, but you saw what the other versons of him did to the city. what he's done too.

your muscles tense, fingers curling into fists at your sides. you should attack. should drive your fist through his chest the way cecil trained you to. should make him pay for all the lives lost today.

but then—

his lips quirk in that lopsided smile you've traced in your dreams a thousand times, the one that makes his left dimple appear just so. his eyes crinkle at the corners in that way you could recognize blindfolded, but there's something shattered in his gaze now, something ancient and grieving. "god, i missed you," he breathes, voice cracking like dry earth in a drought, like the words have been clawing their way up his throat for years. the sound of it—so raw, so painfully familiar—makes your traitorous heart stutter behind your ribs.

your breath catches. "what happened..." you swallow hard, fingers twitching at your sides. "to the me in your world?"

his face does something complicated. for a second, he just looks at you, his gaze tracing your features like he’s trying to commit them to memory all over again. then, softly: "we were together. properly, i mean." his thumb brushes your cheekbone, hesitant. "confessed to each other a year before i got my powers. it was... stupidly awkward. i tripped over my own feet trying to kiss you." a wet laugh escapes him, his eyes shining. "you laughed at me. then pulled me in by my shirt."

the image blooms in your mind—mark, younger, softer, his face burning red as he fumbles through a love confession. you can almost see it.

his expression darkens. "then the invasion happened. you fought—of course you did. even when that bastard pulled out the kryptonite." his voice cracks. "i was too hurt to move. could barely breathe. but you—you looked at me, right before..." he chokes, his hands tightening around yours. "you smiled. like you weren’t scared at all."

the sob tears through you like a supernova—violent, uncontrollable, leaving you trembling in its aftermath. before you can think, you're clutching at him with desperate hands, fingers twisting into the frayed fabric of his suit as if you could somehow stitch reality back together through sheer will alone. your knuckles press white against his ribs, nails biting into your own palms, but you can't loosen your grip. you'd crawl between dimensions yourself if it meant bringing his version of you home. because seeing him so broken like this... it just. hurts so fucking bad.

he collapses into you like a dying star, his arms locking around your waist with bruising intensity. his face presses hot and wet against the curve of your neck, his tears searing your skin as his shoulders shudder against yours. you feel the exact moment his knees give out, how his weight sinks into you—the great invincible mark grayson, brought to his knees by grief.

"we lose you... in every other dimension," he chokes out between ragged breaths, the words fracturing as they leave his lips. his fingers scramble across your back like he's memorizing your pulse points, your scars, the way your lungs expand with each shaky inhale. "and i feel so god damn jealous of the versions of me who didn't-" his voice shatters completely then, dissolving into something raw and wounded.

instinct takes over. your hands find their way into his hair, cradling his head as your thumbs sweep across his damp cheeks. "shhh, i've got you," you murmur into his temple, the same words he once whispered to a scared alien boy in his backyard. the irony tastes bitter on your tongue—how after all these years, you're still comforting each other through losses that never seem to end.

the salt on your lips could be from his tears or yours. you've lost track of who's breaking apart more violently, whose grief runs deeper. are you mourning the you he watched die? the mark who will never look at you this way in your own world? or simply the cruel joke the universe keeps playing—that in every reality, one of you is always left holding the pieces?

"please..." his voice cracks like a breaking spine as he drifts closer, hands hovering near your face but not daring to touch. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, lips trembling around each word. "come home with me." the raw need in his tone makes your stomach flip. "my dimension—it's quiet there, baby, so quiet. just us. no eve, no cecil, no him." his fingers finally brush your cheek, sticky with blood and tears. "we'll disappear somewhere where no one knows us. i'll build us a house with my bare hands. you'll plant those stupid flowers you love. we can even take a bunch of cats with us. i'll—fuck—i'll worship you like you deserve. please."

you want to. god, you want to. your traitorous body already leans into his touch, craving more of the warmth you've been starving for.

but—

"mark," you whisper, heart shattering at how his face lights up just hearing his name from your lips. "you've... you've killed people. innocent people."

he doesn't flinch. doesn't hesitate. just leans in until his forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in ragged, uneven puffs that ghost across your lips. you can smell the blood and smoke clinging to him, can feel the way his pulse races where your skin touches. "yeah," he admits, voice rough like gravel, thick with something desperate between shame and worship. "but i'd burn a thousand worlds to ashes before i let anything hurt you again." his hands slide down your sides, fingers digging into the curve of your waist hard enough to bruise as he yanks you flush against him. you can feel every hard line of his body, the way his heart hammers against his ribs where your chests press together. "i'm already damned," he murmurs, lips brushing yours with every word. "let me be damned with you."

you wince, hands coming up to push weakly at his chest. "mark, you're not mine—"

"i know," he interrupts, pressing his forehead harder against yours like he's trying to fuse your thoughts together. his voice drops to a whisper, raw and broken. "but i could be."

around you, the city burns. the air is thick with the stench of melting metal and charred flesh, the distant screams of the dying swallowed by the roar of collapsing buildings. somewhere beyond the smoke and ruin, your mark is fighting—whole, unbroken, untouched by the kind of grief that twists this version of him into something sharp and feral. somewhere, he's pulling eve close, whispering promises against her lips that taste like forever.

and here you are.

letting a ghost hold you.

this mark—this broken, beautiful monster—is on his knees for you.

you swallow hard around the lump in your throat. because despite the blood on his hands and the fire in the distance, you already know your answer.

oh my god, 6.1k words of pure, unfiltered angst and i am unwell over it. this one-shot clawed its way out of my soul like a demon possessed and i blacked out only to wake up with this masterpiece of pain?? i was absolutely feral writing this, fueled by spite, sleep deprivation, and the haunting echo of "what if mark loved him back but in the worst way possible? what if he did love him but never realised he did (but he did realise this in every other dimension except this one)?" and now here we are. sobbing. you probably thought this would be cute or wholesome. you probably thought, "oh, maskless mark? hot." AND THEN I HIT YOU WITH THE EMOTIONAL WAR CRIMES. but come on, it’s maskless mark—did you really expect anything less than soul-crushing, heart-stabbing, tear-your-ribs-open angst? be so for real. anyway, enjoy the suffering. i sure did. 😭💔

[bananasplit133]

NO ESCAPE

(Invincible x reader) - Sinister Mark

Words: 379

--------

The city was dead.

You had seen it happen piece by piece—buildings reduced to rubble, streets littered with bodies, the sky choked with smoke. There had been screaming at first, resistance, but that had ended quickly. The world was silent now. Empty.

Except for him.

Mark stood in front of you, his cape shifting lazily in the wind. His black-and-gold suit was still clean, untouched by the carnage he’d caused. His expression was unreadable, golden eyes staring at you like you were just another thing he owned.

You were breathing hard. Not from exertion, but from the sheer weight of his presence.

“You’re still here,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Interesting.”

You swallowed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He raised a brow, amused. “Most people try to run.”

“They don’t get very far, do they?”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “No. They don’t.”

You glanced past him, at the wreckage stretching out in every direction.

There was nowhere to go. There hadn’t been for a long time.

Mark stepped closer. You forced yourself not to move. Not to flinch.

“You used to be smarter than this,” he said. “You knew what was coming.”

“I knew,” you admitted. “I just didn’t think you’d be so eager to burn everything down.”

He exhaled sharply—something between a laugh and a sigh. “Eager? No. Just efficient.”

“Efficient,” you repeated, the word bitter in your mouth. “That’s what you call this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers ghosting over the side of your face. The touch was light, almost casual, but it made your stomach twist. Not in fear—something worse.

“You could’ve left,” he said, watching you closely.

You huffed a quiet breath. “And go where?”

Mark didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. You both knew there was no escape from this. From him.

His thumb brushed over your cheek before his hand dropped back to his side. “So what now?”

You clenched your jaw. “You tell me.”

For the first time, his smirk faded. His gaze flickered with something unreadable before settling back into that unsettling calm.

“You stay,” he said simply. Like it was inevitable. Like he had already decided for you.

----

You didn’t argue. Because deep down, you knew he wasn’t wrong.

[idyllwave]

can we have more of reader comforting mark? 🙏

of course !!

cw ; nudity (nothing sexual)

viltrumite!mark x f!reader

Was it the blood that seeped into his clothes? Or was it the blood soaking his hair? Maybe it was blood coating his hands...

He wasn't sure, but something didn't feel right. Like something was off. It made his arms stiffen, his muscles taut. Everything inside of himself was telling him to push off the ground and get far away.

He released a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

And he hates, loathed even, how he jumped just a tiny bit when he felt your hand gently caress his arm. Your voice was as soft as silk when you called his name, luring him to you like a siren in a sea.

He looked at you then, you looked ...

You looked like the person he needed the most right now. Whatever he was feeling, whatever it was, he knew you could fix it. You always did.

"Come here," you took a hold of his hand and gently tugged. You didn't force him to follow, but he found his feet lifting him off the ground as he let you pull him where you saw fit.

You took him to the bathroom, your bare feet softly padding against the smooth tile.

"Come on, let's get you out of those, ok?"

You pulled him down so his feet were touching the floor, too. Your hands slowly working at his viltrumite attire while Mark stood there quietly, letting you work as he was still stuck in his head. Then you turned away from him, to get the bath ready, and Mark, who wasn't ready for you to let go, found himself following after your touch as he leaned his naked chest against your back. The sudden weight caught you off guard, but you smiled and continued to get the bath ready.

Checking the temperature as the bath filled up, you turned back to him, "into the tub you go," but before you could guide him in, he reached for you. His fists enclosing around your wrist, making you pause and look up at him.

"Join me?"

It was the first words he managed to say.

"Of course."

He turned towards you then, and began working at your clothes just as gently as you did his own. You didn't stop him, or get in his way; you just let him do his own thing. The cold air made you shiver when your underwear dropped to the floor, seeing you shake a little made Mark reach for you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, as he pulled you in close, your tits pushed up against his chest and he couldn't stop himself from looking at the sight.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Mark."

He hummed, mumbled a little, but let you guide him as you did before.

He got in first, with you following after. But instead of turning so you could face him and help him get clean, he forced you to sit facing away. Your back pressed against his chest, his arms around your waist, as his legs knocked against yours.

The water immediately started turning red.

"Mark... I need to help you get washed up."

"In a minute," he whispered as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, you smiled and surrendered. So you leaned into his touch and rested your arms over his that were still wrapped around your waist.

It was far longer than a minute, but you didn't mind.

[clairewritesfanfics]

Invincible MASTERLIST

Route: Mark Grayson | Invincible & Variants

Multi-chaptered fics

Villain Creation System (a quick transmigration fic involving an isekai'd Reader)

Invincible Variants: Origins

No Goggles Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (last part)

Sinister

Mohawk

Prisoner

Omni-Mark

Branching Route: Full Mask!Mark Grayson

Full Mask is an exhibitionist (nsfw)

Branching Route: Shiesty!Mark Grayson

Civilian AU: Shiesty

Branching Route: Viltrumite!Mark Grayson

Nail Reader Character Settings: Gender neutral, partial to completely blind Synopsis: He's the quiet, genius transfer that the grownups praised to high heaven, you're the chew toy for every bully in and out of school. He may have been the boy who lives next door, but he might as well have been a stranger. As far as you're concerned, you have no place in each other's life. You didn't think a cheap notebook would change that.

Milf Reader and Vil Mark

Harem Route: Standalones/One-shots

The Idea of You (working title) Reader Character Settings: AFAB, she/her Synopsis: You are a normal human, all things considered, but having the ability to see future events has doomed you to a life as the GDA's pawn. However, what begins as one uneventful day results in your whole world getting turned upside down by the echoes of a man you've only ever seen in your dreams.

Alt: The variants break the Reader out of her prison in GDA headquarters.

Drabbles/Imagines/One-shots

Rick Sanchez-level genius Reader who drags Angstrom to the wasteland where he sent the Marks

Cheating men must die

Variant!Mark Grayson who treats you way more kindly than he does everybody else

Variants encounter Invincible!Reader during the Invincible War

Variants with a chaotic evil Reader with Scarlet Witch powers

Variants react to their Reader wanting to break up with them (she's pregnant or scared that if she does have a child with them the baby will end up being forced to follow in their footsteps)

Reader gets replaced by an alternate version of themselves and the Marks find out

Main Mark and variants whose Reader gets into a motorbike accident

Variants and a childhood friend turned girlfriend that became blind before childhood was over

Doctor Strange/Herta Reader

Captured Mark (this is the variant that Angstrom interviewed and the one was captured by genderbent Cecil and Donald)

Short angst with Captured Mark

Male!Reader confesses to Mark and the variants (Main Mark, Full Mask, Maskless, Mohawk, Prisoner)

Zombie AU

Main Mark and variants with Neglected Batsis!Reader

Headcanons

Mark Grayson Variants as Husbands:

Emperor, Mohawk, No Goggles, Omni-Mark, Prisoner Mark

Cap Mark, Full Mask Mark, Maskless Mark, Shiesty Mark, Sinister Mark, Viltrumite Mark

Their pet names for you

If you one day you looked different, bordering on non-human, would he recognize you?

Fluff Alphabet for Mark Grayson Variants:

Mohawk

Omni-Mark

Prisoner

No Goggles

Harem AU

Chibi Reader

Giant Reader

Male Lead Clichés and Tropes

Full Mask, No Goggles, Prisoner and Target as otome game male leads because why not (ver. campus life)

Flaxan, Full Mask, Maskless, Omni-Mark, Target as otome game male leads because why not (ver. historical fantasy)

Main Mark and variants find out Reader draws them

Main Mark and variants find a way to prolong Reader's life but Reader does not want that

Main Mark and variants whose Reader gets up at night to draw them

Main Mark and variants with a clumsy reader

Variants with a paraplegic Reader

Variants fight a superhero Reader with shapeshifting powers

Variants with an asexual Reader

Variants with a Reader who loves to feed them

Variants (No Goggles, Prisoner, Shiesty, Sinister) with a waterbender Reader

Variants (Emperor/Target, Shiesty, Sinister, Viltrumite) who are soft only for their Reader

Main Mark and variants with a Frieren-like Reader

Music as Writing Prompts

Prisoner and Main Mark really fit Would You Fall in Love with Me Again

Happy Evil Love

Love with the Marks as told in Taylor Swift lyrics. Part 1, Part 2

Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire. They were lifted from the following sources:

Invincible flying is from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-every-character-fate-comics/

Alternate Invincibles is from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-all-alternate-dimension-invincibles-fates/

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

Invincible Questions & Discussion<<select

[sw33t-as-h3ll]

anybody: "they all the sAmE pErSoN."

me: "brain go brrrrr."

baby u are adopted by me and I kidnap William for you in any dimension.

im so sorry rex but like mmmmph Retro Invincible.

that smile, that smirk... different fonts tho. he is cute af but only in my top 8.

Yes. Just yes. I fell in love with him first. Idgaf that he is so evil, he'd fiercely protect someone worthy of his affection (delulu babbling on)...

baby. boi. this one is the fun one. Always in my top 5, sometimes in top 3.

Viltrumite Mark can dominate me... Anytime. lmao

The baby original deserves alllllllll the love from across the multiverse macrocosmos.

He's hot because he became the opposite of who he once was... Just, not himself, and still tried to be better than his father in his dimension, but he is brutal and quick settling wars and shit. Think like anti-villain, I guess.

PLEASE MAKE ME A SLAVE IN UR EMPIRE.

he cool but kinda freaky

[dorrifuto]

I really like him